


But When Will I Meet Her? (Brownie makes new friends!)

by Babyskipz



Series: Brownie and the Falconers [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: An excuse to write dumb boys who admire zimbits, Gen, Grant "Brownie" Browne, POV Outsider, Universe Alteration, Year 3 (Check Please!), warning: eating disorders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23289172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Babyskipz/pseuds/Babyskipz
Summary: Grant “Brownie” Browne, traded to the Providence Falconers halfway through his fourth season, knows two things. One: his new D-man is the coolest person ever. Two: he can say with absolute certainty that he’s in love with Jack Zimmermann’s girlfriend, despite never having met her.Or the one where Jack’s out to the team, but not the world. The new Falconer is big of heart but dumb of ass. Everyone loves Bitty.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Series: Brownie and the Falconers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1688635
Comments: 63
Kudos: 568





	But When Will I Meet Her? (Brownie makes new friends!)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for outside POV on zimbits, especially if it's an oblivious hockey rookie. Tragically, perhaps too much OC and not enough bitty- but is there ever enough? Anyways, Ngozi I love you. 
> 
> Takes place in year 3, where Jack and Bitty are out to their friends and the team, but haven't reached playoffs yet. 
> 
> Warning: mention of eating disorder

Grant “Brownie” Browne loves hockey.

He’s got a one track mind, and his mom says he got real lucky with the whole hockey thing, because his grades sure weren’t gonna get him anywhere. It’s not even insulting; she’s right. His ADD meds stopped him from bouncing off the walls during class, but did nothing to steady the wild tangents his mind would go off on.

With hockey, it’s easy to focus. It’s all there on the ice, and if Brownie goes off on a tangent, his thoughts just seems to bounce off the boards and right back at him.

But right now, it’s kinda hard to remind himself he loves hockey.

“Can you at least tell her I’m interested?”

Brownie throws his stick at the incoming puck. The stick slams into the boards and ricochets off.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He snaps, hands curled into fists inside his gloves.

Freddo has the nerve to roll his eyes at Brownie.

“It’s not my problem your sister’s a hot piece of ass,” says Freddo offhandedly. “You’re the one with a fucking problem.”

The rest of the boys stop passing pucks towards them and are instead skating around the goal, pretending as if they’re not listening in on the argument. Brownie ignores them.

“First of all, that’s my sister,” Brownie spits at Freddo, who’s leaning on his stick with a smirk. “Secondly, she’s 17, which you know, you perv. Third, even if she wasn’t my sister, you’re still fucking gross.”

“Don’t get your goddamn panties in a twist, Browne,” Freddo snaps back, “it’s not my problem she’s hot.”

With that, Brownie’s D-man stakes off the ice toward the lockers.

“Fuck,” Brownie mutters, taking off his helmet and shaking out his sweaty hair. He glides over to his stick and picks it up.

“Hey, man,” Dobbs, the backup goalie, calls out. “Don’t stress it too much. He’s just tryna get a rise outta you.”

“You’d think he’d realize we’re on the same team,” glowers Brownie, skating over to the goal. “But he keeps on with shit he knows bugs me and it’s starting to affect our play.”

Dobbs doesn’t argue with that. Instead, he gives Brownie a shoulder pat and a stick tap to the ass. “It’ll be fine, kid.”

The problem was, it wasn’t fine. 22 years old, Brownie’s fourth season was projected to be his best so far, until his defenseman was traded for 28 year old Alan “Freddo” Frederich. Freddo was a solid player with a big frame, good for defense, but played way more aggressively than Brownie. The coaches tried to make it work, they really did, but Freddo’s “friendly” teasing set Brownie on edge, and they never worked up the trust needed to succeed on ice.

But Brownie loves hockey, really, so he tried to keep his head down and play the game. And it was working, until the week before, when his sister visited.

Hanna Browne was a wonderful young woman, but to Brownie, she would always be his baby sister. The youngest of 5, Hanna is Brownie’s best friend. She was the only sibling who followed Brownie into hockey, who caught Brownie’s eating disorder at 13, who understood his moods, and who visited when he was lonely but wouldn’t talk about it. She‘s also so damn smart, something Brownie‘s flabbergasted, yet proud of.

But when she visited, driving up in the car Brownie bought her with his signing bonus, Freddo was there. He was a ass, but unfortunately not a dumbass. Freddo realized that the only thing Brownie loved like hockey was his sister. So the chirps became even more insulting and personal and Brownie wasn’t sure how long he could take it.

Brownie had grown up going to church, but he wasn’t particularly religious. Yet, at 8:52 pm that night, he found himself thanking God at the miracle that arrived over phone in the form of his GM.

“Browne, you there?”

“Whas’ good?” Brownie mumbles, putting the call on speakerphone, as to continue using his hands to shove strips of grilled chicken into his mouth while lounging on the couch.

“Grant.”

First name business. Must be serious.

“You’ve been traded to the Falconers. The GM in Providence will give you a call tomorrow.”

Holy shit.

“Holy shit.” Brownie melts into his couch. “Uh, sorry, sir. I meant…”

“Look, son,” the general manager sighs over the phone, “I think this is going to be a good thing for both you and the teams. You and Frederich aren’t working out, though it’s not for lack of skill. Your playing styles just aren’t compatible.”

“Oh.”

“Georgia Martin will call you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” says Brownie. “Providence.”

After that, Providence seems to be the only word he says the next day.

The first thing he does after getting the call is tell his sister. He doesn’t cry, but it was a close thing. He‘s moving away from his best friend, he’s allowed to be sad. He wasn’t prepared for such a late trade.

“You can’t say that, Grant,” Hanna tells him, “what kind of professional athlete says that his best friend is his 17-year-old sister?”

“Are you crying?” asks Brownie.

“No, loser,” she sniffs.

The second thing he does is scarf down the rest of his chicken. After that, it’s a blur of calling his parents, packing, and rejoicing in the fact that he doesn’t have to play with Freddo anymore. Providence, Providence, Providence. He‘s almost sick of the word, but not in a bad way. It‘s almost like having an upset stomach after eating too much candy.

The Falconers were supposed to be a promising team that played clean, with good chances thanks to their signing of Jack Zimmermann. This trade, Brownie thinks to himself, will be a good thing.

-

“Glad to have you,” Georgia ‘call me George’ Martin says, shaking Brownie’s hand with a firm grip. The two stand by the door to her office, just back from Brownie’s first day tour.

“You too,” his eyes widen. “I mean—“

George just laughs. “Oh, you’re fine. You’re much better than Westin already. Don’t tell him.” She winks.

“Why trade Westin for me?” Brownie blurts and then slaps one hand over his mouth. “Wait, am I allowed to ask that? I’m sorry Mrs. George, uh, Manager.”

“It’s okay to be curious! I know you weren’t really expecting this.” George guides him back to her desk. “Let’s just say Westin didn’t agree with what we stand for as a team, and it was starting to transfer onto the ice. Your GM agreed when we suggested you would fit better with our team.”

“You requested me?” Brownie tries not to blush. “Whoa, I’m honored.”

“You’ve been playing steady, impressive hockey for four years,” she looks amused at his reaction. “You’ve earned it. Now, let me introduce you to the guys. I think you’re gonna get along great.”

Brownie nervously smooths out his dress shirt and follows George out into the hallway. They snake around the arena until they begin to hear chatter. Brownie finds himself hit with the familiar, rank smell of a locker room.

“—got enough in regards to that. So thanks, Poots.” Brownie hears a ripple of laughter. “Lastly, Tater is on mini-pie ban until he cleans out the mystery sludge in his locker.”

“No fair!” George and Brownie walk in to find a tall man (Mashkov?) sprawled across a half-dressed Falconer and their goalie.

“Rules are rules,” the man standing in the center of the room says. “Jack, anything to add?”

“Euh, round two of jam orders are due by Thursday,” the shirtless man says from under Mashkov’s giant form. Brownie watches as Jack Zimmermann straightens up to address the whole room while Mashkov wriggles around in his lap, elbowing him in the chest. “Talk to me after showering if you haven’t yet. And also, good work today. We’re connecting well on the ice and I have a good feeling about our next few games.”

The Falconers seem to take the end of Zimmermann’s sentence as their dismissal. They disband from their semi-huddle and wander away to each of their cubbies. Zimmermann pushes Mashkov, who is still complaining about pie, off his lap and stands up to walk over to Brownie and George.

“Sebastien St. Martin,” Brownie whirls around to see the man who was speaking before Zimmermann. He sticks out his hand and Brownie shakes it. “Welcome to the Falconers.”

“Oh, thanks!” Brownie says, hoping he didn’t look too intimidated. “I’m Grant Browne, but my team called me Brownie.”

“Jack Zimmermann,” Jack reaches his hand out as well. “Good to have you, Brownie.”

“Thirdy’s taking a dump right now but he’s also thrilled to have you,” Marty tells him. Behind Brownie, George snorts.

“New guy name Brownie? Zimmboni, do you think Little B will make brownies?” Mashkov pops up behind Jack.

“If we get brownies, you’ll be the last to get any, Tater,” Marty scolds halfheartedly. Tater just pouts. “Anyone seen Daphy?”

“Right here!” A voice calls from the corner of the locker room. Brownie turns to see a large, curly-haired man tripping over his duffel bag toward the group.

“You must be Grant!” Daphy exclaims, eagerly sticking out a hang and shaking Brownie’s with much less professionalism than Marty and Jack. “I’m Stephen Nazarian, fellow defenseman. They call me Daphy ‘cause I do a stellar Daffy Duck impression if I say so myself.“

“Brownie,” introduces Brownie, feeling a smile creep on to his face. “I can’t wait to play with you. I mean—“ George and Jack wince at the phrasing, but Daphy just laughs and squeezed his arm.

“Lemme finish packing up and I’ll give you the real tour. No offense, George.” Although Daphy towers over George, he still looks like a kid caught swearing by his mom.

“Go ahead,” she waves Daphy off and Brownie watches the man race back to his corner, stumbling over Tater’s feet and running into a bench in the process.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” George tells Brownie. “Thirdy will have your practice jersey tomorrow, and we’ll have the rest of your gear before the roadie. Once again, we’re all really happy to have you on our team, Browne.”

“Thank you!” Brownie ducks his head at the steady praise. With a fist bump to Jack and a nod to Marty, she goes off with Tater to talk about his nutrition plan.

Marty claps Brownie on the back before disappearing as well, leaving him stuck in awkward silence with Jack Zimmermann, who clears his throat and reaches a hand out, as if to pat his shoulder.

Jack pauses then drops his hand.

“Favorite type of pie, Browne?” he asks abruptly. Brownie blinks. Out of all the questions one of his new captains could ask, it was this? Not, “what’s the deal with you and Frederich?” or “have you adjusted to the move?” It was so unexpected, Brownie felt relieved.

“Oh, shit, uh, I dunno . . .” he scratches at the peach fuzz on his chin. “I really like pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving, but maybe key lime? I’ve actually never had a key lime pie, but there’s a Yoplait yogurt key lime flavor that I used to love as a kid, so maybe that. Or coconut! Coconut and chocolate, like an Almond Joy, but without the almonds. Would that just make it a Joy?”

Jack blinks at him with a blank expression. Brownie blinks back.

“Uh, what was the question again?”

Luckily for the both of them, Daphy appears, fully dressed and packed, and another teammate turns up to capture Jack’s attention and ask him about the jam (?) orders.

“Ready to rock and roll?” Daphy grins at Brownie.

“I’ve never heard anyone who’s not a dad say that,” Brownie frowns. “Wait, are you a dad? Sorry to assume.”

“What? No!” Daphy laughs. “I’m only 23, and my girlfriend can’t get pregnant anyways. Besides, they have enough dads among the old guys and whatnot. Marty’s basically a dad, Thirdy’s literally a dad, and Jack has the pop cultural knowledge of a dad. Except when it comes to Beyoncé.”

“Beyoncé?” Brownie tries to fit the picture of a bashful yet commanding Jack Zimmermann with one who is a Beyoncé fan.

“Bitty’s favorite artist. Made Jack take a quiz on her and everything,” Daphy chuckles as he guides Brownie out of the arena. “Also, Bitty’s ringtone on Jack’s phone is Halo and Jack gets soft every time he hears it. They’re so in love it’s disgusting.”

Brownie smiles despite himself. When Freddo’s girl called, the man would always complain and pick up reluctantly. They’d fight and Freddo would take it with him onto the ice. It was nice to hear that a hockey player could have a girlfriend who mellowed him out.

“My sister, Hanna, almost skipped my high school graduation for a Beyoncé concert,” Brownie recalls fondly. “She went, but we were on a 24/7 Queen B lockdown that day. Whenever I remember walking across the stage, I hear ‘Crazy in Love’.”

“You close with your sister?” Daphy asks.

“She’s my best friend,” Brownie admits, “not seeing her is the hardest part of moving away.” He braces himself to be chirped.

“Damn, that’s nice,” sighs Daphy instead. “I’m not real close with my brother. Always wondered how you could stand a having a sibling as your best friend. But good for you, man.”

Brownie smiles. “My high school team called her ‘Brownie Bite’ when she tagged along to the games.”

“Aw, sweet,” Daphy coos. “Hey, you wanna have lunch with me? I know you’re eating with the captains tomorrow, so you don’t have to go out if you don’t want to.”

Brownie‘s touched by Daphy’s consideration and his reaction to hearing about Hanna. “That’d be awesome,” he beams.

“I’m so glad you’re here and not Westin,” Daphy blabs as he starts his car, Brownie in the passenger seat. “I know that George couldn’t really tell you directly, but we all hated Westin. We’re all so happy to have you instead of him, especially you. I really admire your playing.”

“Oh, thanks!” Brownie rubs the back of his neck. “Why’d you hate him so much? Sorry, can I even ask that?”

Daphy chuckles darkly. “Was a piece of shit to Jack. Took it out on to the ice. Then went after Bitty. We were furious, but Jack and Tater lost it. George has been looking for a good trade for a while. So when she saw you, we slapped Westin with a heavy NDA and kick his ass out of Providence.”

“I don’t know Jack real well, but he seems like a nice guy,” Brownie frowns. “Why would you need an NDA?”

“Jack Zimmermann’s has enough media shit thrown at him as it is. Man doesn’t deserve any of the shit Westin had to say,” Daphy huffs, then shakes his head and breaks into a grin. “But enough about Westin. Food!”

-

Brownie loves his new team.

He’s always been called a “soft boy” by his coaches. He hit an early growth spurt and was the perfect type of large, stumbling boy to put on defense, but that didn’t mean his personally grew with his body.

He wasn’t physically weak or too prone to crying or weak or feminine, or all the other things that made boys “unfit for hockey”, but he didn’t like fights and loved his sister and never tossed around insults in the locker room. He was just soft.

His old team loved him, and he loved them, but they seemed to overlook his weekly visits with Hanna in favor of his game stats. The Falconers, however, embrace it. Daphy met Hanna over face time, who embarrassed Brownie by almost crying over how gorgeous she thought Daphy was. Until Daphy brought out the famed Daffy Duck impression, which instead had Hanna crying of laughter.

When Jack and Tater came to his apartment and saw the Easy Bake Oven shrine he and Hanna had made to honors their dead hamster in eighth grade, instead of ridiculing him for the sentimentality (he was fine laughing at the oven itself, the dead hamster part was kinda funny now), Tater declared he needed to go and buy his own Easy Bake Oven shrine to devote to printed out pictures of him and the team with Snapchat filters. Jack abstained, claiming that he valued his life over what Bitty would do if Jack’s apartment was home to an Easy Bake Oven.

And Bitty. Jack’s faceless, blonde girlfriend who he met at Samwell, who made pie that can literally manipulate Tater into doing anything for a taste, who’s visits make Jack break his “hockey robot programming”, according to Daphy.

“Why doesn’t Bitty ever visit us?” Brownie asked once, trying not to whine. It’s hard when one of Bitty’s famous slices of cherry pie was melting on his tongue that cheat day.

“B has own team to worry about,” Tater told him, looking just as sad as Brownie’s taste buds must’ve been pre-Bitty. “Random and Hotel are captains, but Little B work just as hard as Larissa Duan.”

From what Jack’s said (and all he talks about is hockey, Bitty, and his college team, which seems to involve both hockey and Bitty), Larissa Duan was his team’s manager. Brownie wonders if Bitty is now the Samwell hockey team’s manager. Maybe that’s how she and Jack met. Talk about a meet-cute, Brownie thinks.

But Bitty, Jack, Tater, Daphy, and the rest of the team have made Providence his home. Sure, he misses Hanna like crazy, and the memories he’d made on the ice with his previous team, but the Falconers have made it easy to love his job. He can go in every day, play dope-ass hockey with a D-man who understands his style, eat the world’s greatest pie on cheat day, and go out with friends who never put him down. No worrying about trying to be more aggressive on ice (that, George reassured him, was Guy’s job. No need to fill a roll already taken), or what Freddo might say about him listening to Disney Princess soundtracks on roadies (it was tradition, a sacred Browne pre-game ritual since Hanna was six).

It was four weeks after he’d been traded that he realizes that the Falconers were his home. He’d gotten on the bus at 5 am for their roadie, groggy and cranky. Hanna had had a choir concert the night before, so they didn’t get their pre-travel Face Time session in, and five in the morning was way too early to call her. It would also be his first time playing against his old team. Somehow, the anxiety over facing them translated into grumpiness.

He’s thrown his backpack down in his seat and queued up rain sounds on his phone to lure him back to sleep, when Jack Zimmermann tapped his shoulder.

“Sorry to bother you, but, uh, here,” Jack had sheepishly pushed a plastic baggie tied with a red bow. “Bitty wanted to have them ready for your first roadie, but Shitty thought the first batch were weed brownies and ate them all. But yeah, brownies for Brownie.”

Brownie looked down at the bag of brownies, the red bow, and a little note that read, “welcome to the team! Can’t wait to meet you properly. Have a good roadie — B :)”

Brownie didn’t tear up but it was a near thing. It was five in the morning, on a bus in a city he’d never thought twice about a before a month ago, and he was tired and grumpy and Jack Zimmermann was standing in the isle, having gone out of his way to deliver a bag of baked goods made specially for Brownie by a literal angel.

“Oh my God, I can’t take this,” Brownie sniffed, cradling the bag in his hands. Jack looked terrified at the emotional reaction. “Tell Bitty this is the best thing—the best thing to ever happen to be. This — I think I’m in love. This is so sweet.”

“I’ll tell Bits thanks from you, then,” Jack shoved his hands in his pockets and gave Brownie a mix between a grimace and a smile. “He loves to to hear good things about his baking.”

Later, Brownie wonders how on Earth he hadn’t caught the pronoun. But at the time, he was sleepy and slightly emotional, and it went right over his head. What he did realize was that the Falconers were home.

-

“Daphy.”

“Brownie.”

“Daphy!”

“Brownie!”

“We’re in the playoffs!” Brownie yells into his friend’s face, knocking their helmets together. “We fucking did it!” Cheers go up around them on the bench as the team jumps out onto the ice to join the celly forming near center ice. Daphy squeezes the back of Brownie’s neck and laughs, before pulling Brownie up and dragging the both of them onto the ice.

Brownie and Daphy slam into Tater, who‘s holding Jack off the ground in a side hug. Tater pulls them in and wraps an arm around Brownie, who buries his face into the space between Jack’s arm and Daphy’s shoulder.

The Falconers embrace each other, screaming and cheering, until they break apart to bid goodbye to the other team.

In the hallway, the Falconers meet up with their friends and family, who start a new round of cheering.

“Hanna!” Brownie whoops when he catches sight of her. It‘s his sister’s spring break and he’d flown her out, not sure if this would be the last game he played this season.

“Grant!” she looks over from where she stands, chatting with a shirt girl with spiked black hair. Hanna barrels into Brownie’s arms and he spins her around.

“Holy crap, you smell!” she giggles into his jersey. “You checked that dude so hard last period, I thought he was gonna break through the boards and fly into the stands! It was awesome!”

“Part of the game, Hanna Banana,” Brownie grins.

“Still!” Protests Hanna. “It was awesome! And you won’t believe who I sat by. Jack Zimmermann’s college team! I met Lardo and she’s literally so cool. Yo, Lardo, this is my brother!”

The short girl breaks away from the huddle around Jack to join Hanna and Brownie.

“Sup, I’m Larissa,” she nods at Brownie. “Your sister’s pretty cool.”

“I know, right?” Brownie exclaims . Hanna groans.

“Grant, you’re supposed to play it cool,” she mumbles, ruined by the fact that she’s still smiling.

“Hey brahs!” A mustached man bounds over to stand by Lardo. “Shitty Knight at your service. Gotta say, that was a fucking beaut of a game, man.”

“Thanks!” Brownie says, before squinting suspiciously at Shitty. “Wait, you’re the one who ate my brownies.”

“Eh, guilty as charged,” Shitty shrugs and has the decency to look slightly apologetic. “But really, no one can resist the blessing that is Bitty’s baking, lying there on Jack’s counter like a beacon to stoners.”

“Shitty, stop accosting the poor hockey players,” a southern voice scolds from behind Shitty and Lardo. They shuffle aside to reveal a shorter, blonde man with a radiant smile. “You must be Brownie! I’m so happy to finally meet you. Oh, where are my manners? I’m Eric, forward for Samwell.”

“Grant,” he relaxes at the warmth Eric was radiating. “Or Brownie. Which you already knew.” Before Brownie can stick his foot farther into his mouth, Eric laughs and shakes his hand. Hanna rolls her eyes at her brother’s ineptitude.

“Speak of him and he shall appear,” Shitty shakes his head. “Well it’s been wonderful bros, but I have to go give that Zimmer-ass some lovin’.” With that, Shitty disappears. Lardo quickly says goodbye to Hanna and follows.

“Well, it was nice meeting y’all,” Eric salutes with a smile. “Sorry about Shitty.”

Brownie and Hanna look at each other, dumbfounded, before cracking up.

“C’mon Hanna, I need to shower so I can get press over with before we go to dinner.”

“Dinner?” Like any 17-year-old, Hanna perks up at the mention of food.

“I got reservations at a seafood place with Daphy and his girlfriend.” Brownie tells her. Hanna mimed fanning herself and Brownie shoves her away. “Ew. I’m leaving now. Meet you by the side entrance?”

“Sure. Now, I wonder if Daphy’s girlfriend is as beautiful as he is. . .”

-

“Brownie, what’s wrong?” Daphy sits down next to Brownie on a bench in the locker room. “No one should look so down on their birthday.”

Brownie tries to smile. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit,” Daphy nudges Brownie’s leg with his own. “What’s going on? Is it ‘cause Hanna isn’t here? You have an NHL salary, you could fly her out.”

“She has finals,” Brownie tells him miserably. “But I’ll see her for her graduation anyways. Maybe.” The two sober at the reminded of their chances at the Stanley Cup.

“So what is it?” Daphy asks gently.

“It’s, uh, 8 years since Hanna found me throwing up in the bathroom.” Brownie stares at the ground. He glances at Daphy, who looks concerned, then back at the floor.

“It was my birthday. I couldn’t get out of eating a piece of cake. So I made myself vomit in the bathroom. Hanna caught me. She’d been suspicious, so she didn’t take my excuses. I was admitted to the hospital for damage to my kidneys and esophageal ulcers. I was lucky she caught me then, otherwise I would’ve tanked my hockey career.”

Brownie pauses to stare blankly at his feet.

“My old team didn’t know. I don’t really have issues with my body anymore, in fact, scheduled training and nutrition actually helps because I know if I follow it, I won’t mess up. But some of the guys on the team were bad enough without knowing I had an. . . eating disorder. It’s my first birthday without Hanna there, and I know I’m not,” he waves his hand around, “anymore, but I’m still stupidly scared that something will happen and she won’t be there.”

“Oh, Brownie,” Daphy sighs and buries his head into Brownie’s shoulder. “Grant, I’m so, so, sorry. You don’t deserve any of that. You’re such a great guy and I’m glad you’re here and on our team. I know Hanna’s your best friend, but you’re mine, you know that?”

Brownie blinks tears from his eyes. “Daphy, man, you’re totally my best friend. You and Hanna both. Don’t worry about that.”

Brownie and Daphy sit on the bench and hug, until they hear footsteps approaching. Brownie tries to pull back and straighten up, but Daphy doesn’t let go.

“Hey, Grant.” Jack says from behind them. Brownie stiffens. “Euh, I told the team to practice a little longer. Heard you guys talking, so . . .” He huffs. “Nothing specific, I promise, but I’ve struggled with anxiety for a long time, so I know sometimes you can’t deal with everything.”

Brownie looks up at Jack, who is still in a typical awkward stance, but with an open and earnest expression.

“You were hospitalized in 2009, right?” Brownie asks. Daphy tenses next to him and opens his mouth, but Jack waves him off.

“Yeah,” Jack responds. “Yeah.”

“So you know what it’s like to get lost in yourself and almost sabotage your career,” Brownie whispers.

“Many would say that I did sabotage it,” Jack laughs humorlessly. “But I’m still here, and so are you.”

“Yeah,” Brownie nods. “Thanks Jack, Daphy.”

“Got your back,” Jack says wryly. “Hey, you wanna come over for dinner tonight? Nothing better than a birthday meal with friends. Also, Bitty’s in town so you can have any pie you want. You, too, Daphy.”

“Any pie?” Brownie looks up at his alternate captain, hoping his eyes aren’t too wet. “And I get to meet Bitty? Pie Bitty?”

“Ch’yeah,” Jack grins, “I’ll send Bits a text. Daphy?”

Daphy looks at Brownie and Brownie smiles.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

-

“I’m glad you’ve got them,” Hanna says over speakerphone as Brownie drives over to Jack’s place while telling Hanna the whole story.

“Me too,” Browne tells her, “and I miss you a ton, but you’ll be here next year and I’ll hopefully still be here. Have I told you how proud I am that you’re going to Brown?”

“Every day,” Hanna sighs.

“I still am,” he reminds her. “Browne at Brownie.”

“I am going to hang up,” Hanna threatens. “That joke was barely funny the first time.”

“I’ll see you at graduation,” Brownie reminds her.

“It’ll suck, but I really hope you don’t,” Hanna replies. “I’d much rather watch the Falconers play in the Stanley Cup Finals than have you watch me trip across a stage.”

“But you missed Beyoncé for my graduation, Hanna,” he reminds her, “Beyoncé!”

“That’s different from winning the Stanley Cup, Grant,” she groans. “I love you, happy birthday.”

“Beyoncé,” Brownie repeats as she hangs up.

He pulls in to a parking garage near what his GPS said is Jack’s apartment and takes a deep breath. He’s about to spend his birthday with his best friend, his favorite alternate captain, and his favorite baker.

-

Brownie rings the doorbell.

“Hi Brownie!” The door swings open to reveal Eric, the Samwell forward who was one of Jack’s friends from school at their last regular season game. “Happy birthday!”

Brownie suddenly has an armful of vibrating blond hair. Luckily, Eric‘s too short to see Brownie’s bemused expression. Not that the man isn’t nice, but why is he there and where is Bitty?

“Thanks, Eric,” Brownie plasters on a smile. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

“What? Jack Zimmermann!” Eric puts his hands on his hips and whirls around to shout down the hallway. “You didn’t tell your guest I would be here? It’s this man’s birthday and you didn’t even ask if he was okay with guests?”

Jack pokes his head out from a doorway and frowns.

“What are you taking about, Bud?” Jack tilts his head at Brownie. “He knew you’d be here, he was thrilled at the idea of pie.”

“Pie?” Brownie perks up, all confusion forgotten.

“Oh Lord,” Eric laughs at Brownie’s reaction. “When is there not pie? Fresh, one key lime and one chocolate-coconut.”

“How’d you remember that?” Jack asks, stepping closer to Eric. Brownie suddenly feels as if he’s was missing something very important. “I asked him what his favorite pie was months ago.”

“Sweetpea, you know I keep all of your and my team’s favorites written in that binder by the toaster, right?” Eric looks overly-fond, and is leaning into Jack’s space. They seem to have forgotten that Brownie‘s standing a few feet away, frozen.

“I thought that was just Tater’s menu— all of them?” Jack’ eyes shine. “You never cease to amaze me. God, I love you.”

Brownie watches as Jack leans down with aching familiarity to give Eric a chaste kiss.

“What the fuck, Jack?!” Brownie explodes and the two jump apart. “You’re cheating on Bitty with your teammate? How could you?”

It’s not the shock of Jack kissing a guy, really. It’s the outrage at seeing Jack disregard Bitty, his girlfriend, to make out with a college line mate. Bitty, with her pies, that even Eric knew about! And to do her like that, oh Brownie was mad . . .

The two pause and exchange a look.

“I’m . . . cheating on Bitty?” Jack finally repeats.

“Um, you just kissed Eric!” Brownie waves his hands at said main, who‘s squinting in confusion.

“Oh Lord,” Eric says faintly, before starting to laugh. “You thought—you thought Jack was cheating on me with. . . Me?”

Now, it seems to be Brownie’s turn to be confused. “But you’re Eric?”

“Eric Bittle. My friends call me Bitty,” he chuckles and leans into Jack, who seems to catch on. “Oh my Lord, Jack did you not tell him?”

“I’ve been open about dating you this whole time,” Jack says, and peers at Brownie. “You know I was dating a former teammate! You knew he was short and blond and bakes. Brownie, you said last week that you were in love with Bitty’s baking and would marry him if we broke up.”

“I thought Bitty was the team manager, and that she—he—you were a girl,” Brownie’s eyes widen. “I’m such a fucking idiot. Oh my God, don’t tell Daphy when he shows up. I’ll never live it down.”

“Oh I promise I won’t— but I can’t say the same for Jack.” Bitty smirks. “This man can’t chirp for his life, so I’ll let him have this one.”

Jack laughs. It’s a closed eyes, shaking kind of laugh that Brownie rarely hears from Jack Zimmermann. Occasionally he’ll hear it from the edge of the rink when Jack’s with Tater, or when Shitty, the mustached man, visits. But this— this type of laugh is the one that comes from overheard phone conversations that Jack gets chirped to the death about. The ones to Bitty.

Bitty, who’s got one arm around Jack’s waist and the other outstretched to guide Brownie into the kitchen. Who lights up the room, and by extension, Jack. Who is the one who baked him brownies for his second roadie, who wrote down Brownie’s favorite pies so he could make them for him. This is the same Bitty he’s heard about— the same Bitty that makes Jack and Tater and everyone fall a bit in love with him and his baking.

“Fuck,” Brownie says, slouching at Jack’s kitchen counter with a glass of sparkling water and an honest-to-god appetizer plate in front of him. Jack’s lounging next to him as Bitty finishes cooking up their dinner. “I’m so sorry. That was really, uh, what’s the word? Heteronormative? Yeah, heteronormative of me.”

“Haha, you’re fine,” Jack says, shooting an adoring look at his boyfriend’s back. “It’s an easy mistake to make, I just don’t get how you thought Bits was a girl for so long.”

“You never used pronouns!” Brownie argues.

“Maybe not right away— we were still getting used to being out to the team. But Marty and Thirdy teased me about my boyfriend all the time, how did you not catch on?”

“Uh, I thought they were making fun of you and Shitty,” Brownie says dumbly. “Cause he’s always professing his love to you and sends you nudes that you, for some reason, open in the locker room!” He hears Bitty snort from across the kitchen.

“Then what did you think the extra privacy and anti-discrimination meeting was about? George literally said ‘anyone who can’t accept playing with a teammate of different sexuality isn’t welcome,’ then looked at me. She put that in place after everything with Westin.”

“I didn’t notice!” Brownie argues. “I thought George said it to reassure me because of my coffee mug that says ‘stake fast and eat ass’ and was trying to be supportive!”

Bitty chokes on his breath from laughing. Brownie‘s saved from more chirping by the sound of the doorbell buzzing.

Jack pads down the hall to open the door. As he leads Daphy in, Brownie shoots a desperate look at Bitty. Bitty simply turns to face his newest guest with a smirk.

“Daphy, dear, you will not believe what just happened . . .”

“Noooo!”

-

A few weeks, 7 long championship games, around a hundred apologies to Hanna over missing graduation, and a beautiful game-winning goal by Jack Zimmermann, Brownie finds himself crying in a huddle with his best friend and his other teammates as Stanley Cup champions.

Daphy hits their helmets together so hard Brownie thinks he’ll wake up with a mild concussion, but it doesn’t matter, not when they’re smiling so hard it hurts. All he can feel is the overwhelming joy and pride coursing through him.

It doesn’t matter that his old team thought he wasn’t aggressive enough, because he’s here with his new team and won. He’s here, 23 years old, having survived an eating disorder, making enough doing what he loves that he can fly his sister out whenever he wants.

He’s here, overflowing with happiness, as Jack and Bitty, his Jack and his Bitty, make history when they kiss on center ice.

**Author's Note:**

> You may ask, "why's Daphy's name spelled like that?" The boys were happy to call him Daffy- but Daphy's always saying "oh, it's Stephen with a ph" until he says in response to someone asking how to write Daphy and he says "with a ph". Baby realized his mistake too late, so of course the boys don't let him forget it. 
> 
> I just wanted to write a himbo- I deserve it.


End file.
